Burning
by VegasGirl09
Summary: I was reckless, once was breathless, running from that day I snapped, but I've got a feeling and keep believing, I'm never gonna give this back, I'm alive, Oh, I'm burning" Finn and Russell. Gig Harbor Killer. Seattle. 2009.


Seattle 2009

She was falling, there was no other explanation for the dizziness that overtook her, yet when she opened her eyes, she was completely still. Something tight was wrapped around her wrists, resisting when she pulled at it. Her arm stuck to something leather when she lifted it, setting it back down, weak. Squinting, she noticed it was a chair, not like the one she occupied at the restaurant, one that was old and rickety. She could not get her eyes to focus enough to make out the rest of her surroundings. Shapes blurred together, the air reeked of fish, a boat horn echoed somewhere in the distance. There was something shiny beneath her as she sat in the uncomfortable old chair, something glittering like water droplets, blue and sparkly, but when she set her foot down attempting to walk, the shiny object pierced her skin making her cry out in pain and realization; broken glass. She was freezing, shivering as she sat bound to this chair, still wearing the fancy new green dress she had chosen for dinner with Mike tonight. Someone had taken her shoes, which is why she could not step barefoot on the ground without piercing her skin with glass. Whatever this place was, it was not good, someone had left her here, tied up, alone, scared. The last recollection she had was the restaurant. Mike had stepped outside to take a phone call, they had not even been served drinks yet, just bread which she devoured while waiting for him. Everything else after that was dark until this moment. The unpleasant churning of her stomach, the dizziness and foggy memory made her realize she had somehow been drugged but by who and why?

When she slowed her breathing down, trying not to throw up, she got a better look at her surroundings which started to come into focus. There was indeed a sea of broken glass surrounding her chair, no doubt a tool to prevent her from escaping. There were boarded up windows, water dripping off the walls, red and yellow strings dangling from different angles above her head and across the room, a tripod with a camera mounted on it stood across from her, it's red timer light blinking steadily. A fishing hook was hung on the wall near a wood table meant for processing fish. Her stomach really churned now when she realized what the hook meant; she would not be alone for long before he returned and likely delivered to her what he had done to the other girls. The Gig Harbor Killer had her at his mercy.

_Seattle PD Crime Lab_

D.B Russell did not want to believe what he was seeing. The computer screen pushed blue light into the room, hurting his eyes yet he could not look away. The knot in his throat fell into his stomach as chaos erupted around him. Voices asking why and how and what to do next. Beeps and hums from the machines in the lab. Shouting from one strong voice near him. He tuned it all out the moment he saw her face on the screen. The camera zoomed out and showed him the rest of her, tied to a chair, shivering, looking around terrified, unaware she was being watched. Panic flooded his chest from the moment he got the phone call, frantically demanding he get downtown because someone had taken her. Mikes words sped up in panic as he described the evening; dinner at a fancy restaurant, he stepped aside to take a phone call, came back to the table and she was gone, cameras, restaurant security, they saw_ him_ luring her away, practically carrying her, drugged, disoriented, how in the hell.

Russell's mind immediately went blank except for her face, her smile, her curls. Her laugh echoed in his ears as he pushed his way through the lab and out into the parking lot. The drive to the restaurant was a blur of traffic, speeding through yellow lights and heart wrenching thoughts. Briscoe, drugs, stalking, murders, Gig Harbor. It was all information they knew, having worked with this suspect for weeks now, trying to track down evidence and prove he was associated with the recent murders of college women in and around Seattle. They interrogated, pried, searched, theorized but had very little to go on. But now, this was an escalation. Russell only heard a few snippets of what Mike was telling him before he received another call. From Kerry Torres, his colleague, urging him to come back to the lab to see what was sent to them. His stomach began to churn at the thoughts of what awaited him back at the lab and that is how the video feed came to be.

Now as they sat here watching their friend helpless and scared on a grainy screen surrounded by fishing hooks and broken glass in an unidentified warehouse or dock somewhere in the harbor, he could not help but feel responsible. Why didn't they act sooner? Why was Briscoe allowed to be out on the streets when he was a suspect? Why did he give this case to her? She was the best no doubt, but he had put her at risk and now, she needed him, and he was trapped here, unable to rescue her and it was all his fault.

_The Warehouse_

Julie used what little strength she had to continue tugging at the rope that bound her ankles and wrists to the chair. The room was still spinning in front of her and the smells of rotten fish making her nausea worse. Getting away from here was her main priority but how? she wondered, terror at being trapped forever or worse, dying here, growing with each passing second. She tried to twist her body around to see what was behind her but that made her back ache and burn from the awkward position she was in and probably from the forceful way she was carried here. Winded, she settled back against the rough chair with no cushion, whimpering uncontrollably now at the severity and complexity of her situation. It did not cross her mind for one second that this was not Jared Briscoes doing. He was the only one connected to the case, the only one who knew she was working the case and getting closer to catching him. She remembered the last interrogation they had with him, how he pleaded innocence. He owned up to stalking women but not killing. Sin of omission? She could not tell. He was playing games and she had been caught. Wearing nothing but her new dress in this cold, damp room made her feel even more vulnerable. The ropes cutting into her wrists a mere formality as she was too groggy to keep fighting them. The glass beneath her feet, a new torture tactic she had only seen in the case files from the other murders. She was going to die here. No one was coming to rescue her. Her last thoughts would be of Mike, her team, Russell, how hard they worked together only to succumb to this violent end. It ached her heart at the thought of never seeing any of them again.

_Seattle Crime Lab_

Time evaporated around him. Each passing second cost her precious time. Yet he remained rooted to the spot, eyes burning as he continued to watch the screen, watching her frantically struggle to escape her bindings then give up in exhaustion and settle back in the chair defeated. Her eyes were red from crying in frustration. Her hair was tattered and tangled, unlike her usual bouncing vibrant curls. She looked pale as opposed to bright and lively. Briscoe was sucking the life out of her leaving her exposed to the cold and damp harbor. His cruelty was also ironic. To hurt them the most, he stole the sunshine away from the world_, his_ world. There was no sound on the video otherwise he would have been able to discern her whimpers amongst the other sounds around him. They would have been the loudest and most soul crushing.

Files from the Gig Harbor Killer case lay scattered around him, but he could not dare look at the victims below when she was so close to meeting the same fate. He knew he should be out tearing the city apart looking for her, but he had no cognitive ability to focus on anything. Shaw, Kerry and Mike as well as an army of detectives were coordinating a plan. Little did they know how badly he wished to bust down every door of every house in and around the harbor area. Briscoe of course was no where to be found and would likely remain hidden until it came time for his sick game to reach its end. It killed him that he could not focus long enough to anticipate the twisted end to this game. Ultimately, deep down, he knew death was the final blow but how and would he be forced to watch on screen. He did not dare imagine the uproar the whole world would see if Briscoe acted on his impulse and carried out the final move. Russell would surely perish, weighed down by anguish.

"_So what do we do?"_ she called to him, her voice echoing around the room, bouncing off the walls, reverberating until it reached his heart, piercing it.

He tried to find his voice, to call back to her, to respond so she knew he was here. I'm here Jules. I hear you. But no words would emit from his mouth. The synapses in his brain were firing on all cylinders except the ones he needed. Picturing her was not enough. She needed to be here, beside him, close enough to lean against, to touch her arm when he needed her attention, to motion with one hand to get her to follow his lead, to snap fingers at when he realized the clue they were missing, to clap his hands together when it all made sense at last. With wide eyes, he realized where he needed to go but how could he leave her? A glance at the screen showed him her heavy gaze as she lifted her head and locked eyes with the camera, as if she figured out what was happening and was pleading with him to rescue her.

"I'm sorry," he cried to her, shaking his head in disbelief, "Jules I-

There was no excuse for not being able to function without her. He was a seasoned investigator, he had solved heinous crimes, put away hundreds of criminals. But she was the beat to the drum of their rhythm. She was the ebb and flow. The ying and yang. His Zen talk had finally immersed her enough and she became the reason for their success. Without her daily existence, he was rendered helpless. There was no voice inside his head telling him what to do next. No voice to tell him to act, think, plan, repeat. Without her, he was a broken record, forced to spin on an endless loop without the sweet sound of music drifting through these halls.

But then, he was floating, being whisked away by some ghostly figure out into the night. Cold air bit at his face with the breeze lofting in from the waters edge. Lights of red and blue exploded in his eyes. No sooner had he floated to the source of the commotion did they emerge. It was her, battered, bruised, alive. Mike carried her, his clean suit a stark contrast to her ashen complexion and soot colored dress. The cold air may have bit at his skin, but it devoured her flesh, her shivering unmistakable as Mike set her down in the back of an ambulance. Her gaze was heavy and drug laden still, and she was unaware of his presence. But for him, it was enough, her life force was enough to sustain him even if hers was depleting. Before they closed the ambulance doors, a single tear rolled down her face, scorching his heart like acid rain.

The brightness of the hospital was a cruel irony to the people inside. It taunted them with a false sense of security. It dazed and confused those coming in from the darkness outside. Disoriented the consciousness and subdued the fragile. He paced, that was the only rhythm he could keep now until he heard otherwise. His shoes made repetitive tapping sounds on the tile floor. He kept up with their uneven tune by humming but he hated the sound his cracked voice was making. Where was his piano? When the door finally opened, Mike stepped out, shaking his head but sighing.

"That bastard," was all he could say to remark on the horrors of the night.

"Is she?" Russell asked breathlessly.

"She'll be all right, in time," Mike said, mentioning the broken glass, the myriad of cuts, her torn dress, her agony at being trapped, fears of someone attacking the others, including him.

"I can't get her to stop crying," he added as a final remark of her terror "maybe you could?"

Russell pierced him with a confused look. As if waiting out here was not torture enough, now he was tasked with soothing a fire.

"I don't think she'll go for that," he confessed his fear.

"You know her as well as I do," Mike admitted "please?"

After hours of inaction, the moment had arrived at last. His legs carried him into the private room, also white, laden with her sobs punctuating the air like balloons popping. Her body a small valley on the large mountainous bed.

"Jules," he said her name, loving the way it rolled off his tongue, the most natural phrase in the entire world.

She remained still, unable or unwilling to raise her body to face him. He slid across the floor, fearful his steps would cause an earthquake and shatter her more. He took the chair Mike had occupied, facing her at last. Her hair was splayed across the pillows like streamers of gold. Her face held an expression of an emotion he could not identify, sadness, anger, defeat, all combined perhaps. She pulled all the blankets up to her chin, leaving one arm to stick out as it was currently being pierced by an IV needle. Fluids, hydration, anesthesia, all words in the assault vocabulary he expected her to need tonight. On the metal table behind her, lay tools of the trade, a scalpel, gauze, bandages, saline, blood-soaked shards of glass in a tray. Nausea overtook him in a tsunami wave at those images. She seemed content to lay there, frozen like a statue, weakened by the drugs and from being terrorized. Her fingers twitched in his direction, a small gesture of acknowledgement.

He reached out to her, slowly picking up her hand which was ice cold to the touch. Her weight felt like air as he cradled her hand in his. She needed warmth yet he feared holding too tight after what she had endured. Yet her eyes pierced him with a look, she wanted to speak but her voice was hindered by whatever emotions were overtaking her. He saw her bottom lip tremble; her eyes dart back and forth trying to communicate with him.

"Gig Harbor," she choked out, using all her strength.

"I know," he said hanging his head in shame at how he let it get this far.

"Find him," she pleaded quietly but there was a fierceness in her tone, she was determined, burning.

"I will," he promised with equal fierceness in his voice, squeezing her hand to match the mood they both exhibited.

She nodded as a final acceptance of his word, her eyes closing, her breathing slowing back to normal, her chest rising and falling in a normal rhythm.

With her asleep, whether drug induced or on her own terms, he raised a shaky hand that was sitting useless at his side to place on her forehead which was cold to the touch. With one sweeping motion, he brushed her hair back to really look at her, focus on the details of her face that he almost lost. She wouldn't have allowed him to do this on a normal day. She would have shaken her head, telling him he was overreacting to the situation, batting her eyes to say, "don't worry, I'm fine." But now, her face held none of those familiar emotions he equated with her general happiness. She was whole at least, intact physically. Once her emotional state was soothed, she would come back to him, they would banter over cases in his office, she would perch herself on top of his desk, curling up there like she belonged. They would bicker when something didn't go her way. She would pout, stomp her foot, cast a shadow over him ultimately leading him to give in and let her have whatever she wanted. She would hunker down over her work next to him, her eyes darting over notes and pictures as her mind churned theories and tossed around solutions. He would steal glances when he knew she was at her most focused simply because he adored watching her work. Tapping her pencil or pen back and forth on the table helped her work out nervous energy as did biting her nails and bouncing her leg up and down. Her fidgeting was the rarest of diamonds he would not sell to the highest bidder.

He didn't know when, but he began to stroke her hair and he had to stop, withdraw his hand and lean back in the chair. Anyone could be watching. Getting lost in thoughts of working with her played over and over in his mind like a film. Her arm twitching suddenly on the bed made him jump, startled. His heart stopped racing when she simply reached out for him, finding his hand again blindly and guiding it back to the top of her head indicating she wanted him to continue playing with her hair. She could not see his smirk of joy at her request, but he acknowledged it with a playful tousle of her hair before he continued brushing it back. He hummed along now, music accompanying him. There was no sweeter sound.

_Two Days Later _

She felt her canvas shoes slip on dew as she descended the grassy hill, sending droplets of water up, tickling the top of her foot as she walked. It was a far cry from the piercing glass shards that had stabbed at them just days ago. Bandages and gauze still wrapped tightly around the wounds causing her to resort to a more casual form of footwear to get around in. The chill of the evening air made her shiver and draw her arms tighter around her, the beige sweater she picked out from her closet for the occasion bringing her warmth and comfort in the moment. The grassy hill broke and turned into a concrete pathway, leading down to a wooden dock where he sat, legs dangling over the water, staring out into the harbor. Arms crossed, she reached him, sighing as she sat beside him, swinging her legs back and forth over the dock lazily.

He could smell her perfume before he heard her creeping up behind him; lilac and lily's, sweet and soothing. When he heard her content sigh, his heart began to race. She was safe now, he didn't have to worry, but her presence was sending him on a whirlwind of new emotions. The dock was still yet he was floating again.

"It's beautiful," she remarked of his property and yard despite visiting this home quite often, she always found new places to explore.

Beautiful, he repeated in his head, if only she knew.

"We're gonna catch him," she said, tilting her head, wanting his attention but he was still staring ahead at the choppy waves.

"Yeah," he murmured breathing in the salty air.

She was right, of course. In time he would get sloppy and they would get justice. A sinking feeling overcame him whenever he thought about the grand finale that would have to take place for that to happen. As he looked down at her feet swinging beside him, the bandages visible over the tops of her shoes, he hoped for mercy when that day arrived. She scooted closer to him now and his heart beat faster. Her curls had been restored to normal and they bounced when she moved, the breeze catching them and making them dance. Before he could say anything else, she rested her head on his shoulder and extinguished the fire. She shivered against him and he forgot where he was. Let the world fall apart, what did he care? As for Gig Harbor, he didn't hit half bad, Russell thought, but just wait until _he_ caught his breath. He would lay in the grave for them soon enough, burning all the way down.


End file.
